Andy needed allies who controlled what Broken Hills lacked—muscle, routes, and leverage. The marketplace was running, but protection and connections would determine if it survived or became another wasteland failure. He pulled on his tan jacket and checked his medical kit before heading out. The orange tabby walked north where salvagers worked in clusters around rusted machinery. These weren't random scavengers—they were organized, skilled, and they knew every trader moving through the region. Andy watched them sort through pre-war components with practiced efficiency. One group had what looked like navigation equipment spread across a tarp. He approached slowly, letting them see his medical supplies and the caps pouch on his belt. They'd talk eventually. Everyone needed something, and Andy always came prepared to deal. The lead salvager glanced up from a circuit board. "Medical cat. What're you buying?" Andy crouched beside the tarp and examined the equipment. Guidance systems. Exactly what Reilly's Rangers had stockpiled thinking they were broken radios. He pointed to three components. "These work with proper calibration. I'll pay fifty caps each and show you how to spot the functional ones." The salvager's eyes narrowed, then he nodded. Information trades built trust faster than caps alone. Andy spent an hour teaching them diagnostic tricks while mentally cataloging their operation's scope. They moved salvage through four settlements and knew which caravans carried what cargo. Before leaving, he planted the seed. "Broken Hills needs reliable suppliers. You bring quality components to my marketplace, I'll make sure the right buyers show up." The salvager pocketed the caps and agreed to send a runner next week. On his way back, Andy spotted the old Vault-Tec billboard near the highway. The digital display still had power, flickering with pre-war advertisements nobody could read anymore. He climbed the rusty ladder and pried open the control panel. Three wire connections and one reprogrammed message chip later, the screen blazed to life with bright letters: "BROKEN HILLS TRADING - NEXT EXIT." Caravans traveling the main route would see it from miles away now. Andy descended and walked toward the fuel station, where he'd noticed merchants gathering in the evenings. Inside, someone had cleared space and set up a small operation—Dancing Dead Coffee, the faded sign read. The weathered brick building had brown and white walls with a red tile roof that matched the SuperMart's style. Two traders sat at a makeshift counter, drinking something that smelled like roasted chicory root. Andy ordered a cup and listened to them discuss supply problems and route dangers. This was where deals happened after the official trading ended. He made a note to stop by here three times a week. The real intelligence always flowed where people relaxed. Andy finished his drink and headed back to his office as the sun dropped low. The salvagers would bring components, the billboard would pull in distant caravans, and the coffee shop would feed him information. Broken Hills was becoming exactly what he'd envisioned—a place where traders gathered, deals formed, and Andy Cerberus learned every secret worth knowing. The foundation was solid now. Soon he could start building upward.

Andy studied the settlement's edges where infrastructure had crumbled into rust and broken concrete. The marketplace needed more than trading posts—it needed the bones that made a real hub function. He walked the perimeter at dawn, notebook open, marking locations where pre-war systems still had potential. Near the eastern approach, he found what he'd been searching for: a water reclamation unit half-buried in sand, its purification filters intact. Two hours of digging and rewiring brought it online. Clean water meant caravans could refill here instead of pushing through to the next settlement. By afternoon, he'd located a communications relay tower the previous occupants had abandoned. Andy climbed thirty feet up rusted scaffolding and replaced three burnt-out circuit boards from his salvage stock. The radio crackled to life, extending Broken Hills' broadcast range by forty miles. Traders monitoring caravan frequencies would hear his market updates now. As the sun dropped, he stood beside the water unit and watched it process the first batch through its ancient filters. The settlement was becoming something traders needed, not just visited. Infrastructure meant permanence, and permanence meant power. The next morning brought a different challenge. Broken Hills had working systems now, but it lacked clear boundaries. Traders needed to know where the settlement began and ended. Andy walked the western edge where the marketplace blurred into open wasteland. A thick line of green cactus stalks grew in a rough barrier, their sharp spines glinting in the sunlight. Perfect. He spent three hours transplanting additional cacti from nearby clusters, filling gaps and reinforcing the natural wall. The barrier marked territory without requiring constant maintenance. Merchants would see it and know they'd reached protected ground. By midday, the heat drove Andy toward the eastern side where a massive acacia tree spread its branches over packed dirt. The thick gray bark looked ancient, and feathery green leaves cast dappled shade across the ground beneath. Andy measured the space with his eyes. Twenty feet of shade, maybe more. He marked the location in his notebook and sketched a rough layout. Market stalls could fit here. Traders needed rest between long hauls, and shade was worth caps in the desert. He'd seen caravans pay premium prices just to park somewhere cool. This tree would become a gathering point. On his way back to the SuperMart, Andy spotted the old waystation tower rising against the horizon. Weathered brick walls climbed three stories high, and boarded windows stared out over the cracked road leading in from the west. The structure marked where pre-war trade routes had intersected. Andy climbed the external stairs and tested each step before putting his full weight down. From the top, he could see both approaches to Broken Hills and the marketplace spreading below. This tower would make a perfect observation post. He pulled out his notebook and added it to the list. Infrastructure, boundaries, shade, and vantage points. The settlement was taking shape piece by piece. Andy descended carefully and walked back toward the water reclamation unit. Three merchants had already stopped to refill their containers. They nodded as he passed. Broken Hills was becoming essential, and essential meant control.